A Poem A Day 19

Child

Cells

dividing

Multiplying

Spinal cord and

nerves pulsating

Umbilicus draws life,

And blood, nutrient rich,
fecund, sustaining.  A heartbeat

flutters, rhythm forming.

Child, what kind of world is waiting?

Are there loving arms, abundance, hope?

or rejection, pain, torment, despair?  Will

your yet unopened eyes see love?  Or conflict,

insecurity and lack?  Will your forming limbs be

nourished and grow strong?  Or turn bent and frail

from deprivation and disease?  And your heart – will

it grow large and loving, succoured by sweet nurture, giving,

or shrivel small from fear and hate, depriving.  Will you become

one who nourishes, protects and strengthens, or succumb to

victimhood, or worse, repeat oppression? 

Child, what kind of world is waiting?

Kerry Miller

A Poem A Day 13.

My Life is Not a Poem.

My life is not a poem.

It’s not tidy or concise

There is no rhyme or reason

And some parts aren’t very nice.

My friendships are haphazard. 

My career is on the blink,

and more time than I‘ll admit

Is spent with dishes in the sink.

There is no rhyme or reason

for so much of what occurs,

yet moments happen anyway,

that make me stop, or pause,

and catch my breath in wonder,

like the sunlight after rain,

and the flocks of cockatoos

flying in the afternoon

and the wonder of my children

and the faithfulness of friends

and the way that sharing insights

makes connections of loose ends.

And perhaps the work of poetry

Is just to speak this out;

to remind us of our resonance

with universal things

and help us see the beauty

and the truth in everyday

and the way we are connected

in a feeling, human, way.

It seems that whenever I'm stuck, I resort to rhyme.  I think, perhaps, Judith Wright was correct, when she said "Free verse is harder to pull off than rhyme".  This is an excuse for a poem - today had me coming up dry.  However, the sentiment is one I genuinely agree with.